My Poison, Ivy
by Ovary Boi
Summary: She hadn't cried in so long, because there had never been a need to cry; because she had never thought about the sun. Warren/OC.
1. sun

Disclaimer: I don't own Sky High.

WARNING: This chapter contains the suggestion of rape. If you are not comfortable reading it, then please don't.

It was sunny that day.

Ivy shut her eyes and tried to forget what the sun looked like. It was too painful to remember the sun.

It was sunny that day.

Ivy's head suddenly exploded with a rush of images and an unwelcomed groan escaped her throat. They were memories, made hazy by time, but memories all the same; a cloud in the shape of a rabbit; three cracks in the pavement; the school bus, like a safe haven to her now, disappearing over the hill.

And suddenly, she was there again.

It had been quite the average Tuesday. As she walked back to her house from the bus stop, Ivy was, as always, left to revel at the amount of mediocrity she had put forth into her schoolwork that day. This always seemed to leave her slightly frustrated with not only her classes, but with herself, and she couldn't seem to escape her unwarranted feelings of insecurity because of it. Ivy was smart, and she knew it; however, her lackluster performances in the classroom had led her peers to believe otherwise, and this had left Ivy feeling quite badly about herself. She didn't know how much longer she could continue to surround herself with classmates who found her less than intelligent.

She sighed when she realized the route her mind had taken, and immediately attempted to rid herself of the thought altogether; she didn't want to dwell on things she couldn't change, and she wasn't about to go around feeling grim because of them.

It was then that she heard the faint echo of footsteps trailing slowly behind her. At first, Ivy brushed off the notion of someone following her, carelessly assuming it was her own footsteps she heard; but as they quickened in pace, so did Ivy's heart. She saw the faint light blue of her house peering out from behind some neatly trimmed hedges about two blocks ahead of her and sped up a little.

"Hey," a man suddenly called out.

Ivy thought about making a quick dash toward the house but stopped; she hesitated for a split second then turned around.

"Hm?" she said, trying to look surprised.

She took this little window of opportunity to observe the man who had been following her.

He was young, maybe 26, and he was tall, with short sandy hair and a spattering of freckles across his cheeks. Ivy noted that he was wearing a cardigan sweater, even though it was uncharacteristically hot for a Tuesday in September.

"You dropped this," he said, smiling. "I thought you might have heard me following you and turned around. Sorry if I scared you."

Ivy looked down at his extended arms and felt the strangest rush of relief. Cupped inside of his hands was a golden chain. She touched her neck and felt nothing but smooth skin.

"Oh," she said, feeling silly. She took the necklace gratefully. "Thank you," she continued. "It must have fallen off when I got off my bus."

"It's no problem," said the man, continuing to smile.

Ivy felt silly. This man was nice. She forgot why she had felt scared in the first place. After all, it was a Tuesday afternoon, and it was sunny. She had nothing to worry about.

And it happened so quickly, it might not have happened at all.

Ivy looked up and saw the nice man standing before her and he didn't look so nice. She saw him pull the reflective piece of metal out of his pocket; and then she understood.

"Don't scream," he said.

Ivy felt a set of rough and calloused hands grab her wrist with such unnecessary force that she let out a small cry of pain; she felt herself being dragged into a nearby hydrangea bush; she felt her shirt being torn; she felt the cool breeze against her bare skin; she felt the bile rise up in her throat; she felt the tears sting her eyes; she felt the stab of the knife against her breast, and just as the man was about to enter her, she felt something else.

The oddest feeling of happiness washed over her. For a moment, Ivy felt completely whole, the way she had always wanted to feel; and then, she felt her hands grow warm, and she heard the man cry out, and she looked at him, and he looked at her, and she watched as he fell to the ground, twitching and writhing in pain.

And then—

Ivy opened her eyes. She did not want to remember anymore.

She did not want to remember the day she became someone else, the day that changed her life forever.

The day she got her powers.


	2. sadness

Disclaimer: I don't own Sky High.

Almost one year had passed since Ivy had thought about the sun.

And so she sat, with quite the clouded judgment, trying to decide whether or not to go through with what she was about to go through with.

As she sat at her vanity, she stared at someone she didn't recognize. Someone stared back, and Ivy suffered to understand who the person was. Ivy knew her; she just couldn't remember her.

The girl was young and quite beautiful. Her black hair fell in curtains and framed her face; her eyes were the color of moss; her lips were full and red and her cheeks held the faint blush of an eternal winter's day.

And it dawned on Ivy that she was looking at herself. At this realization, Ivy suddenly grabbed the closet thing to her, a silver hairbrush, and threw it as hard as she could.

The deafening crash resonated with Ivy for a few moments before she even knew what she had done, but stayed with her for a long time after. Now she stared at the thousands of shards of reflective glass, and a thousand Ivys stared back at her.

She slammed her fist down on the table in anger, ignoring the sharp pain in her hand as a few shards of glass broke through her skin. The reflection had been so innocent, but Ivy was not. No, Ivy had her innocence taken from her, and she scowled at the thought of how cruel and unforgiving her reflection had looked.

Suddenly there was a pounding of footsteps, and Ivy's door flung wide open.

"Ivy!"

Ivy turned around and found her mother standing in the doorway, her hand still grasping the doorknob tightly. At first Ivy was confused, and then she noticed her mother's lipstick running in a crooked line across her cheek. Oh.

"Mom," she said. "It's okay. I fell. The mirror broke… That's all. It was an accident."

Such an obvious lie. Ivy sat in her chair, perfectly unharmed, the hairbrush a glaring reminder of what had actually just happened. But Ivy's mother seemed to accept the lie; probably because she didn't want to accept the truth. She let out a sigh and seemed to relax. Ivy noticed that she didn't loosen her grip on the doorknob.

"Oh," her mother said breathlessly. "Oh, I'm sorry Ivy. I guess I'm just nervous, that's all…"

She looked at Ivy. Ivy thought she looked frightened.

"Nervous?" Ivy tried to continue casually. "About what?"

"Well," her mother started. "I… Well I know you're starting at your new school today, and I thought maybe you might have gotten a little excited… Maybe your powers…?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Ivy stood up.

"What?" she seethed. Her mother took a step back. "You think I can't control myself? Like I'm some kind ticking time bomb that's going to suddenly explode?"

Ivy's mother started to shake her head furiously. "No, Ivy, no! That's not what I—it's just—well it wouldn't be the first time that you—that your emotions got the better of you. I mean, for God's sake try to remember how this all happened in the first place! Wasn't that your temper?"

Ivy gaped at her, appalled. "My _temper? _You think it was my _temper _that did this to me? I'm so sorry that I was being _fucked_ against my will by a disgusting _pig_!" Ivy took a step toward her mother. Again, her mother took a step back. "My _temper_ had nothing to do with this… this—_atrocity! _It was that fucking one-night-stand that got you pregnant with me in the first place! Whoever fucked you that night did this to me! How else would it have fucking happened? You're way too fucking weak to have ever given me this—_ability_."

She looked at her mother in disgust for a moment then smiled. "I should probably thank him, you know. My father. If it wasn't for him, I would have been fucked silly, and then there'd be more than one weak whore in this house."

Ivy's mother opened her mouth, then closed it again. Slowly, and without a sound, she turned and walked away, shutting the door quietly behind her. Ivy was alone. She ran up to the door and shrieked, pounding on it with all her might.

"And another thing!" she screamed. "WHY THE FUCK WOULD I BE EXCITED ABOUT GOING TO A SCHOOL FOR FREAKS!"

And then she fell to her knees.

Ivy tried desperately to control her breathing, but after a few moments, found she could fight it no more; she didn't want to. Ivy began to sob; great sobs that racked her body. She hadn't cried in so long, because there had never been a need to cry; because she had never thought about the sun.

But she thought about it now. She thought about it's light; about it's grace; the way it rose in the morning and set in the evening; how it looked that day that everything changed; how it felt, warm on her face…

And Ivy let the warmth consume her as she felt herself be consumed by sadness; and she sat on the floor and cried as she thought about the sun.


	3. rejuvenation

Disclaimer: I don't own Sky High.

Ivy didn't know how much time was passing. She didn't care. But as she sat on the floor and cried, the seconds flew. And then the minutes. And Ivy cried and cried, until suddenly, and for no reason, Ivy stopped crying.

She got up. She went to her closet. She picked up her book-bag. She walked out of her room. She walked past her mother's bedroom (she could hear her mother sobbing quietly through the door, and she felt a small pang of regret). She walked down the stairs, out of her house, onto the sidewalk. She walked down one block, then two, then three. She walked until she stopped, and then she waited.

Ivy felt strange. She no longer felt sad, but oddly content. It was as if the sun had replenished her, as if the darkness that she'd spent the last year wallowing in had drained her of what little happiness she'd had; and now, it was coming back to her, filling her up like warm gold. Her cheeks began to feel stiff, and it took Ivy a few moments to recognize that she was smiling.

She cleared her throat, letting the smile fall from her face, and glanced up at the sound of an approaching vehicle. A bus. A fleeting image of the man with sandy hair shot through Ivy's mind, and she shook her head vigorously. She wasn't going to think about that.

Not today.

She watched as the bus came closer, slowing, stopping—for her; and the doors creaked open, and Ivy stared into the darkness, a darkness that was all too familiar; and she thought, for just a moment, that she would not go. She would not take that step into the unknown. But she thought again; this bus would take her to a new life, a life that, whether good or bad, was different. And Ivy needed different. She needed it desperately. She needed it like ivy needed the sun…

She took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and—

"Is this the bus to Sky High?"

The figure in the driver's seat leaned toward her, slowly emerging from the shadows, and Ivy looked up hopefully. A bespectacled woman looked back at her. She was grinning.

"Sure is, doll," she said, her southern accent like honey.

Ivy gave a nod and clambered onto the bus nervously. She realized she was sweating and started mentally cursing herself. Damn it, why did she get on the bus?

She jumped slightly at the sound of the bus doors slamming behind her and decided she would have to sit down. She took a seat in front of a dark-skinned girl and immediately proceeded to stare out the window.

Looking around the bus, Ivy had counted no more than six students, all younger than she. She guessed not many other "special" children lived in her neighborhood. Or maybe there just weren't many at all. She began to feel ill.

It didn't help, of course, that the bus had just driven off an unfinished overpass and they were now falling toward their eminent deaths. Ivy shut her eyes tightly, too scared to scream, and waited for impact. When none came, she opened her eyes and glanced around the bus. Everyone was fine; calm, in fact. She looked back out the window. Clouds.

Realizing they were floating to school via flying bus, Ivy sank back into her seat and groaned.

It was going to be a long day.

—

The bus came to a less-than-smooth landing just atop the hovering mass of earth, which seemed to house the school. Ivy made certain she was the last student to get off of the bus and, thanking the driver, she took her first step toward a new life.

As she walked, Ivy began to sweat again. She hadn't been around this many people in a very long time, but she was starting to feel better about the fact that there _were_ so many. Hundreds, thousands of students passed her, chatting casually to one another, acting as though there was nothing unusual about spending a day at a floating high school for freaks. Maybe Ivy wasn't so strange. She felt herself smiling again and immediately sped into the building.

—

"Ms. Rivers, we've been expecting you."

After a short and confusing search for the main office, Ivy had managed to find the woman she had been scheduled to meet with. A handsome Mrs. Powers stood in front of her now, smiling cheerfully. Ivy returned the favor.

"Hello," Ivy said nervously.

Mrs. Powers lifted a manila folder from her desk and flipped through its contents noisily.

"It says here you're a going to be a junior this year. Are you excited?" she asked, still grinning.

"Yes," Ivy responded.

There were a few moments of silence as Mrs. Powers glanced over what was, presumably, Ivy's student file. When she was done, she threw the folder back onto her desk and placed her hands on the table's wood surface for support.

"So, Ivy. I've read in your file that you were pulled out of school after an unfortunate incident last year."

Ivy nodded.

"You were homeschooled?"

Ivy nodded again.

"How was that?"

Ivy shrugged.

Mrs. Powers gave a small sniff then continued. She didn't stop smiling.

"How are things at home?"

Ivy was thrown off by the question.

"I…" she started.

Mrs. Powers stared at her for a moment and then turned around, as if suddenly uninterested.

"Your mother has provided us with substantial evidence that your powers are extremely harmful, potentially even fatal, for anyone who comes into contact with them. Therefore you will not be put through power placement, and instead will be placed into hero level classes. Here is your schedule," she said, handing Ivy a piece of paper.

Ivy was speechless, flabbergasted by the information she had just received and by the mysterious inner workings of Mrs. Powers' mind. She watched as her new principal took a seat behind her desk and began to stack several loose papers, humming to herself. She looked up at Ivy, as if wondering why she was still there.

"Have a good day, Ivy," she said.

And with that, Ivy stood, picked up her bag, and exited the office, more nervous than ever.

It was going to be quite a long day indeed.


	4. escape

Disclaimer: I don't own Sky High.

"Ivy Rivers?"

Ivy looked up from the schedule she'd been studying to see a young blonde woman standing in front of her.

She nodded, then added, "Wait, how do you know my name?"

The woman smirked.

"Because you're the only student late to my class."

Ivy, surprised, looked to her right and saw a classroom full of students staring at her; she felt her face getting warm and looked back at the teacher.

"Sorry," she said quickly. "I had trouble finding… Sorry."

She turned and walked hastily to the only open seat: a chair in the back next to a sullen looking redhead.

"Now that everyone's here," the teacher said, throwing a glance at Ivy. "Let's continue. Most of you know me already, but for those of you who don't," another glance at Ivy, "my name is Ms. Keaton. I will be your History of Heroes teacher for the next 9 months. Now, continuing through the syllabus…"

"Hey."

Ivy jumped at the whisper; the redhead was talking to her. Ivy cleared her throat nervously.

"Hello," she said back quietly.

"I'm Layla. It's Ivy, right?"

"Ms. Beaumont."

Layla perked up at the sound of Ms. Keaton's voice.

"I hope you don't plan to talk the entire time I'm speaking. If so, I'm having lunch with your mother tomorrow and I'm sure she'd love to hear all about it."

"Yeah, Layla!" shouted a boy from the back of the room; Ms. Keaton glared at him.

"Sorry," mumbled Layla, her face turning the same color as her hair.

Ivy shrugged apologetically, and turned back toward the front of the room. A few seconds later she felt a folded piece of paper slide under her right hand. She turned to Layla, who was grinning slightly, and opened it.

A note:

_Find me at lunch._

The bell rang suddenly and Ivy looked up to see Layla already halfway out the door. She looked back down at the note and sighed, picked up her bag, and continued on to her next class.

—

The next few periods persisted without any severe abnormalities, save for the unique subject matter, which, thankfully, Ivy had come to find quite interesting. Unfortunately, she had started to regain those all too familiar feelings of insecurity.

After Ms. Keaton's comment to Layla about having lunch with her mother, Ivy, so convinced she wasn't a freak only hours earlier, was now certain that she was bizarre, even by these standards. She was an outsider, an intruder on their closely-knit and interconnected community of freaks—which made her the freak. If not here, where did she belong? She was starting to feel sick again.

By the time lunch came, Ivy had lost her appetite all together. She could feel the note shoved inside her pocket and it suddenly felt like a million pounds; she touched it tenderly, feeling the paper crinkle underneath her jeans, and stepped into the cafeteria cautiously.

It was crowded. Ivy, feeling slightly claustrophobic, began to scan the head of every student, looking for a flame of bright red hair. Her heart shot up as she noticed a character with familiar orange tendrils. She made her way over to the table.

"Hi," Ivy said lamely.

Layla looked up, smiling. "Hey, Ivy. Have a seat."

Ivy obliged silently, taking the chair across from Layla.

"So—" she began, but she was cut off as Layla stood up, beaming.

"Hey, you!" she said to someone Ivy realized wasn't her. She watched as a boy with shaggy brown hair made his way over to Layla and wrapped her in a loving embrace. It made Ivy feel uncomfortable.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Layla said, looking terrified at her own behavior. "Where are my manners? Ivy, this is my boyfriend, Will."

Ivy looked at the boy with brown hair and gave a meek smile.

"Will, this is Ivy," Layla continued.

Something about the way Layla said her name made her feel strange; as if they had just been talking about her before she'd entered the room.

"Oh!" said Will, who, although grinning, looked surprised. "Hey—hey, I'm Will."

He put out a hand to shake; Ivy accepted the offer. She noticed his hand was strong.

"Yeah, I've heard all about you," he said.

Ivy furrowed her eyebrows and looked at Layla, who had started to blush again.

"Will!" she whispered, hitting his arm gently.

"How did you…?" Ivy began, but was again interrupted by more guests.

A lanky boy with blonde hair claimed the seat to her left, while another boy with glasses grabbed the seat on her right; a pretty girl in purple sat down across from her.

"What did we miss?" said the blonde.

"Is this her?" the boy with glasses added.

The girl in purple remained quiet, but stared at Ivy intently.

"You guys!"

Layla was absolutely red.

"Do you know anything about being subtle?" she asked breathlessly. "I'm sorry, Ivy, I—I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"Um…" was all Ivy could muster. She was upset and thrown off by the fact that Layla suddenly looked afraid—as if she would hurt her. She took a moment to compose herself, and continued. "How is it… um… how do you all know 'so much' about me? I mean… All I told you before was my name."

There were a few moments of silence as everyone at the table stared at one another. Will stared at Layla pleadingly. She cleared her throat and began to speak.

"Uh," she started, taking a seat; Will followed suit. "Well, let's see. As you probably noticed earlier… my mom is kind of friendly with the people here at school and… well Will's parents have lunch with Principal Powers every Sunday and… Well, I'm sorry if you feel uncomfortable, but… I mean, we just know so much about you…"

The ringing silence when she finished made Ivy's heart sink. She felt the color drain from her face. Did they know about…? No, they couldn't… Could they? Ivy felt embarrassed; she felt like she would cry.

"Excuse me," she said quietly, and she quickly stood and left the table.

She could hear Layla's voice echoing behind her as she exited the cafeteria ("What is wrong with you guys!"), but after a few moments she couldn't hear anything at all. She jogged down the empty hallway toward a set of double doors, which led outside, and pushed through them angrily.

Blindly, furiously, she walked. She walked with a purpose. She walked until she came to the end of the earth, and then she looked down. Nothing but clouds. She felt the wind wash over her face; she felt the sun hot on her back; she felt the sting of the tears.

She shut her eyes, never wanting them to open again.

Every pain Ivy had ever felt came rushing back to her in that moment. She felt the jab of her old schoolmates' taunts; she felt the twigs and rocks cutting her as the man with sandy hair forced her to the ground; she felt the hurt she'd felt the first time her mother had looked at her with fear; she felt the pain of seeing Layla, a stranger, look at her with such dread; she felt the sun, burning and unforgiving…

She took another step toward the edge, knowing it would be too easy; knowing no one would miss her, that everyone would be thankful a monster like her were gone. Another step. She was nobody; she fit in nowhere. Step. Step. Step. The pain was going to go away soon. Ivy threw her arms out. She would never have to think about the sun ever again. She took a sharp intake of breath, and then—

"Don't!"

Ivy stopped and opened her eyes.


	5. new

Disclaimer: I don't own Sky High.

Ivy turned around. A young man stood before her. He was tall, with long dark hair, and he was handsome—very handsome. Ivy looked down at the book he was gripping in his left hand; his thumb kept the place of the page he was on.

"What are you doing?" he asked calmly.

Ivy closed her eyes again. His voice was like gravel. It sounded nice.

The two stood frozen for a moment, silent. A breeze went by, ruffling the leaves. A few birds chirped in the distance. It was a lovely summer's day.

Ivy watched as the young man relaxed, taking another step toward her.

"What's your name?" he asked.

Ivy stared at him. They shared another minute of silence.

"It's a beautiful day," he said casually.

She gave him an incredulous stare. Here she was trying to kill herself, and he was talking to her about the weather! Was he trying to save her life or take her out on a date? She took one step backward; her heel hung dangerously over the edge. His expression didn't change, but he cleared his throat. She saw him relax more.

"You know," he said, shifting his stance and looking up at the sky. "Ever since they banned students from eating outside during lunch, I've snuck out here every single day." He looked back at her. "It's a lot quieter now."

Ivy continued to stare at him.

"I'm Warren," he said, putting out a hand to shake.

Ivy looked at it for a moment, then back up at his face. His features were so… chiseled. She shook her head slightly at the thought, feeling her cheeks flush.

"Did you wanna step away from there?" he asked.

His arm remained extended toward her.

Again, she stared at him, this time examining him more carefully. The hint of a smile played on his lips. His eyes were a deep chestnut. She looked back down at his hand. It was large, rough; his fingers were calloused. She felt her heart began to beat more quickly and realized she was sweating again.

Cautiously, Ivy took a small step toward him. She lifted her arm slowly and reached out, letting her fingers hover curiously above his open palm. She could feel an intense heat radiating from his hand. It was strange, but it felt nice; it made her quiver. Glancing up at him one last time, she was about to let her hand fall gently into his when—

_BRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIING!_

Ivy jumped at the sound of the school bell ringing, signaling the end of the lunch period. She immediately pulled her hand away and looked up at Warren, whom she thought looked slightly disappointed. Thoroughly embarrassed, Ivy looked down at her feet. She pushed past Warren vigorously and began trotting back toward the building, where students were now pouring outside for their afternoon lessons. Before reaching the double doors, she thought she heard Layla's voice calling out to Warren, but immediately brushed the thought away. She didn't want to think about Layla, and she especially didn't want to think about him.

She didn't like the way he'd made her feel: so trusting. Ivy had made a promise never to let herself trust so easily again; but she couldn't help feeling so… naïve. She couldn't stop thinking about his eyes—like coffee; or that incredible heat that had sent shivers down her spine. It had only just happened, but it was as if the memory had been with her since conception. He was marvelous, but she did not want to confide in him.

Not at all.

Upon entering back into the school building, Ivy leaned up against the nearest wall and tried to process everything that had just happened. Moments ago, she had nearly ceased to exist, and now she stood panting and thinking about the handsome stranger that had managed to change her mind—what was left of it. She felt nauseous and out-of-breath.

"Oh, Ivy!"

Ivy flinched and whipped her head toward the source of the voice. It was Mrs. Powers. Ivy looked around. The wall she had decided to rest on was seemingly attached to the main office.

Mrs. Powers walked over to her, smiling. The rhythmic clicking of her heels soothed Ivy in a strange way; it made her feel like she was in elementary school.

"I was just coming to find you," she said cheerfully. "I saw on your schedule that your next class was the Art of Mastery."

Ivy, unaware of the order of her classes or their proper names, offered a confused shrug. Mrs. Powers gave a short laugh.

"I see. Well, grab your things. You won't be attending—not today, anyway. I've set up a private lesson for you. Come with me."

Ivy nodded, picked up her bag, and proceeded to follow Mrs. Powers down the hallway.


	6. peace

Disclaimer: I don't own Sky High.

Mrs. Powers finally led Ivy into what, at first, appeared to be an empty classroom. Upon further entrance, however, Ivy noticed someone standing in the back of the room. He was looking out the window, with his arms behind his back, as if pondering some deep mystery of the universe.

"Rob," said Mrs. Powers.

The man turned around suddenly, surprised.

"Joanne!" He said cheerfully. "I wasn't expecting to see you so soon. You must be Ivy."

Ivy gave him a smile. He was fairly young, with gorgeous brown curls. The shirt he was wearing seemed a bit loose around his thin frame.

"Hi," she responded quietly.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, walking over to her. He put out a hand to shake. She took it politely. "I'm Mr. McCabe, I'll be working with you to try and gain some control over your powers."

Ivy felt her heart skip a beat.

"I'm sure you'll do well," Mrs. Powers said to Ivy. She looked back at Mr. McCabe. "See you later, Rob. Let me know how it goes."

"Sure, Joanne," said Mr. McCabe. He looked back at Ivy before continuing. "Alright, if you'll just follow me back here, we can get started."

Ivy suddenly became very aware of her breathing as she followed Mr. McCabe to the back of the classroom. They were short, quick breaths. Her palms were sweating again. Mr. McCabe seemed to notice her uneasiness and ushered for her to sit down in one of the nearby chairs. She obliged, thankful.

"Ivy, It's alright," he said reassuringly. "You'll be okay."

She nodded, not sure of what to say. She was worried about what was going to happen to her—to him. She looked at Mr. McCabe intently.

He looked like he was in his early thirties. His eyes were hazel, and very kind. Small crows' feet surrounded them. Though not classically handsome, Mr. McCabe did hold some kind of strange attraction—at least to Ivy. He had nice cheekbones, and strong eyebrows. And that _hair_…

Ivy blinked. She noticed her breathing was back to normal. Mr. McCabe was still smiling expectantly at her.

"Shall we get started?" he asked tenderly.

Ivy nodded.

Mr. McCabe had Ivy perform a series of routine motions. He asked to her close her eyes, to relax all of her muscles and to control her breathing. Every now and then he asked her questions and she provided him with answers. And though she tried her best to avoid thinking about it, Ivy's mind wandered to the handsome boy on the ledge. She couldn't stop thinking about that wonderful heat he'd given off. She let the warmth consume her once more…

After a little while, Ivy began to feel strange: like she had finally made peace with some inner evil. She didn't even realize how much time had passed until Mr. McCabe jolted her from her thoughts.

"Well, we should wrap this up," he said.

"Already?" Ivy asked, opening her eyes; the peaceful feeling dissipated almost immediately. She frowned. "We… we didn't really do anything."

He chuckled.

"Relax, Ivy. I'm not going to ask you to use your powers today. First you need to learn how your muscles work: control your breathing, find your center, things of that nature. If you don't have control over those things, you certainly can't expect to have any control over your powers." Ivy blushed. He continued, "In fact, I'm going to assign you some homework."

She furrowed her brow, perplexed. He grinned, and took out a small piece of paper from his pocket.

"Here," he said, handing it to her.

She studied its writing for a moment before looking back up at him.

"It's an address," he said, answering her unspoken question. "That's a yoga studio. I want you to attend classes there; at least two a week, to help you learn control. Don't worry about costs, the school has offered to pay for everything—so long as you attend classes regularly. If not, you'll be withdrawn from the class. Clear?"

Ivy nodded and offered him a sincere smile. He returned the favor.

"It was nice working with you today, Ivy," he said as he led her to the door. "I hope we can make some great progress."

"Thank you. Nice meeting you," she said quietly.

Ivy shuffled out of the classroom just as the bell rang. Swarms of other students began to flood the hallways. Ivy gave one last look toward the door, but Mr. McCabe had already gone. Ivy soon became swallowed up in the crowd, and she reluctantly made her way to her next class.


	7. embrace

Disclaimer: I don't own Sky High.

The rest of the school day seemed to fly by, and as she made her way toward the bus to leave, Ivy's thoughts began to wander.

Her first day had proved more interesting than she'd previously hoped. Aside from her frantic attempt at suicide, she'd also met a handsome stranger, and found a teacher with whom she'd really connected. She liked her other teachers well enough, sure, but none of them compared to Mr. McCabe. He'd made Ivy feel so _safe_. It was a feeling that had been forgotten by Ivy all those months ago, and yet he'd allowed it to resurface in just a matter of moments. She was astounded, but grateful.

As Ivy neared the doors of the bus, a loud shout jarred her from her thoughts.

"Ivy! Ivy, stop!"

She felt someone grab her arm. Ivy whipped around nervously, only to find Layla staring at her, doe-eyed.

"Sorry," she said, not releasing her grip. "I didn't mean to startle you, I just… I wanted to catch you before you got on the bus."

"Yes?" said Ivy, pulling her arm away slightly. Layla let go of her, blushing.

"I… Well, I wanted to apologize… for lunch today. It was really out of line for me to say anything to anyone. I'm sorry for making you feel so uncomfortable. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since it happened and I just… I wanted to catch you before you left, that's all. If you don't wanna talk to me again, I totally understand… I just… wanted to say sorry," said Layla.

Ivy considered Layla's speech for a moment; she did seem genuinely upset…

Layla turned to walk away.

"Layla," Ivy chirped. The redhead turned back to her. "Save me a seat at lunch tomorrow?"

Layla gave her a large smile and nodded before rushing off to her group of friends. Ivy immediately recognized Warren towering over them. He would have appeared almost menacing, if not for the fact that he was holding hands with a dainty blonde and smiling. Ivy felt an unfamiliar burning sensation in the pit of her stomach, but doused it quickly as she boarded the bus.

As she took her seat, she glanced back at the group through the window. Right before take off, she could've sworn she'd seen Warren staring at her.

—

Ivy opened her front door to find her mother sitting at the kitchen counter. She didn't glance up from the magazine she was reading.

"Hi, Mom…" Ivy said softly.

Her mother still didn't look up. She flipped a page in her magazine and took a sip from the teacup she was holding in her left hand. Ivy sighed.

"Mom," she began tenderly, making her way over to the counter. Her mother looked up, now. "I just want to say… I'm really, _really_ sorry for how I acted this morning. It was really horrible of me to say those things to you… It's just… I feel like you don't look at me the same anymore… That's all."

The ringing silence that followed tugged on Ivy's heartstrings. She stared at her mother intently, feeling her face getting hot. Tears began to well up in her eyes.

"Mom…" she began again, but before she could finish her mother stifled her with a hug.

"Oh, Ivy," she said. Her voice was wet with tears. "You know how much I love you. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for all of it."

Ivy was crying openly now, too, and in that moment she knew nothing else mattered. What was in the past was in the past; every mistake they'd made had been forgiven in that moment, with that beautiful, wonderful, loving embrace; they only had the future to look forward to, and to Ivy, nothing looked brighter; and so the two women stood, embracing in the middle of the kitchen, and cried.

When her mother finally let go, Ivy looked up at her.

"Now," she said, sniffling; she smiled. "Tell me about your first day of school."

—

That night, Ivy lay awake for hours. She felt physically exhausted from the day's events, and yet her mind had never been more active.

As she stared at the ceiling, scenes of her earlier brush with death reeled in her head. She closed her eyes, wanting to forget how close she'd come to jumping off of that ledge. The thought made her stomach queasy. She could see the clouds drifting beneath her feet, feel the rush of the wind on her face… and she saw him, too; his chocolate eyes looking at her—through her—right into the depths of her very soul. And that wonderful heat…

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

Ivy opened her eyes to the sound of an alarm.

6:30 A.M.

Time to go to school.


End file.
